


Cannot Be Long Hidden

by p1013



Series: Kinkuary 2021 [22]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Confidential Informant Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Smokes, Happy Ending, Harry Potter smokes, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Legilimency Sex (Harry Potter), Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Wall Sex, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29708955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: There's a faint pop of Apparition, and Harry turns towards the noise. Coming out of the dark like an ethereal prince, Draco Malfoy strides down the alley like he was born from the night. Black combat boots, tight black jeans, a leather jacket over a white shirt with some random Muggle band's logo smeared across the front. His nimble fingers are already halfway through pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and before Harry can say anything, Malfoy's holding one between his fingers and offering it to Harry."Potter," he says as he waits for Harry to take it, like tradition demands. "Fancy meeting you here."
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Kinkuary 2021 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140512
Comments: 24
Kudos: 217
Collections: HP Kinkuary 2021





	Cannot Be Long Hidden

**Author's Note:**

> Day 24 - Legilimency

For a brief instant, Harry wishes his life weren't so cliché. It's a bit exhausting, falling into so many stereotypes in one lifetime. Tonight, he's doing his best Humphrey Bogart impression. He's in the middle of a dark alleyway, a light jacket overtop of his button-up shirt. The crease in his tan trousers has dulled from its pristine sharpness of the morning, but his shoes are still unscuffed and, even in the dark, still gleam. There's a single lamp flickering above a doorway, and its fitful spitting light is the only thing Harry can see by. There was rain earlier, and the pavement is still slick and shining with it. Neon from the main street reflects in shimmering bits of pink and blue, and Harry wishes, not for the first time, that he had a cigarette.

There's a faint pop of Apparition, and Harry turns towards the noise. Coming out of the dark like an ethereal prince, Draco Malfoy strides down the alley like he was born from the night. Black combat boots, tight black jeans, a leather jacket over a white shirt with some random Muggle band's logo smeared across the front. His nimble fingers are already halfway through pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and before Harry can say anything, Malfoy's holding one between his fingers and offering it to Harry.

"Potter," he says as he waits for Harry to take it, like tradition demands. "Fancy meeting you here."

Harry takes the cigarette, puts it to his lips, and wordlessly lights it. He takes a drag. "What've you got for me tonight?" he asks, smoke curling from his lips along with the words.

"Not much I'm afraid." Malfoy lights his own cigarette and takes a grateful puff. "There's a new group of Neo-Death Eaters forming in South London. Nothing to be worried about, I don't think. They mainly want to play at the idea of being bad, put on masks, and fuck." His smile flickers like the light. "Can't say I blame them for that."

"And the potions ring? How's that going?"

"Now that," — Malfoy points with his cigarette — "is a great question. They're getting ready to ship goods to France."

"They're going international?"

Malfoy nods, smiling. "In two weeks. I can probably get you the port, if you ask nicely."

"I don't have to ask, Malfoy. That's not how this works."

"That's exactly how this works."

Harry takes another deep drag on his cigarette and lets the smoke scald his lungs the way that Malfoy's gaze scalds his skin. "You're the informant here, Malfoy. You tell me what I want to know, and I save your arse from Azkaban."

"Oh, my apologies, Auror Potter," Malfoy simpers. "I promise I'll pay closer attention to the rules next time."

"Right." Harry hears footsteps on the main street, and he grabs Malfoy's arm, dragging him further into the darkness. "The port, Malfoy."

"Say please."

Harry slams Malfoy up against the nearest wall. The brick catches on Malfoy's jacket, rucking it up around his waist. It drags his T-shirt with it, and there's a flash of pale skin that Harry can't help but look at.

"The port," Harry says, his voice as rough as the bricks against Malfoy's back.

"Oh, come off it, Potter." Malfoy tosses his head, his blond fringe knocked away from his eyes for a second before it falls back in place. "We both know why I'm here, and it's not to tell you where some two-bit criminals playing at potioneers are going to be off-loading their cargo."

When Malfoy's hand touches Harry's hip, he hisses in a breath. Those nimble fingers find their way beneath the hem of his shirt and press into the arch of bone, the dip of muscles, the thin line of hair.

Harry doesn't pull away.

"Not until you tell me," Harry says. His hand in Malfoy's shirt twists, and as the collar tightens around Malfoy's throat, his grey eyes grow dark and his smile turns sensuous. "What port?"

"Lyon." The French rolls off Malfoy's tongue, and Harry feels his cock harden. "Now, time for what I want, Potter."

Harry throws his cigarette away, then presses his body against Malfoy's until all that's holding him up against the wall is the weight of Harry's body.

"And what do you want?" Harry asks, his mouth a fraction of an inch from Malfoy's, already poised for the answer he knows he's going to get.

Harry doesn't see Malfoy smile so much as feel it, his lips ghosting across Harry's as they move. "Why don't you see?"

Closing his eyes, Harry dips into the familiar sensation of Legilimency. He's gotten better at it since his days with Snape. Harry's learned how to trust the feeling and work his way into the crevices of a suspect's mind. It doesn't feel like an invasion or a violation anymore, just a part of his job.

Malfoy is different, though. Even at the start, Harry didn't feel anything but pleasure whenever he stepped into Malfoy's mind. It's like getting into a bath, the water warm and sweetly scented with oils. Neck deep and slack with it, Harry thinks Malfoy's mind is unlike any other in the world, and Harry dives into it almost gratefully now. 

Malfoy doesn't hide anything, refuses to pretend that he's not as excited as Harry is for the spell to do its work. As soon as Harry breaches Malfoy's natural mental shields, he's shoving images, front and center, straight into Harry's mind.

Red lips stretched around a thick cock. Fingers pulling on hair that alternates between dark and light. Arched backs and tensed thighs. The red stain of blood from fingers pressed too hard against skin. And underlying all of the images, the painful, roiling heat of  _ want _ . Desire, thick and cloying, that tries to choke Harry as much as it tries to draw him closer. It's overwhelming (it's always overwhelming), and Harry's already half-hard cock goes ramrod straight as Malfoy's thoughts surge over him.

They're kissing before Harry's fully out of Malfoy's mind. Malfoy's legs are wrapped around Harry's waist, and he's grinding against Harry. Harry drops his grip on Malfoy's shirt to grab his arse instead and help him further up. Their teeth clack when Harry shoves Malfoy back against the wall, but all it does is startle a moan out of him. Malfoy's hands fumble for his flies, and Harry groans at the brush of his knuckles against Harry's stomach.

"Fuck me," Malfoy pants as he gets his cock out. "Damn it, Potter, I want you to fuck me."

It physically pains Harry to say, "I can't." He spits in his hand and wraps his fingers around Malfoy's cock as an apology, wanking him exactly the way he likes.

"You always say that." Malfoy's head thunks against the wall. "One day, Potter."

Harry doesn't answer, just twists his wrist as he reaches the crown of Malfoy's cock and waits for the resulting shiver to race through Malfoy's body.

He'd never admit it, but Harry knows Malfoy's right.

"Get it out already," Malfoy pants. "C'mon, Potter, you know you want to."

Cursing, Harry shifts Malfoy's weight and, one-handed, gets his own trousers open. His prick is leaking and flushed red. He thrusts it against Malfoy's, and they both curse at the sensation.

"That's right," Malfoy says as he wraps his hand around both of their pricks together. "This isn't breaking your fucking rules, is it, Auror Potter?"

"Shut up." Harry thrusts into the heat of Malfoy's hand, against the heat of his cock. It sears him to the bone with how good it feels. "Shut your damn mouth."

"I remember you being a fan of that mouth." Malfoy catches Harry's ear between his teeth and bites gently. "Didn't have any complaints when it was wrapped around that prick of yours two weeks ago."

Fighting against the wave of memory, Harry slams his eyes shut and his hips forward. Malfoy chuckles, and the sound washes over Harry's senses, nearly as intoxicating as Malfoy's fingers tangling in Harry's hair.

"Let me hear you, Potter." Malfoy tightens his hand, and though it wrenches a groan from him, he also tears one from Harry's parted lips.

He doesn't mean to do it. It's a mix of the orgasm creeping up his spine and Malfoy's fingers in his hair, the press and pull of muscles, the heat between them. It's because this  _ is _ what Harry's meant to do here. He's meant to delve into Malfoy's mind, to confirm he's telling the truth, that his intel is good.

Legilimency is so easy now, it's almost barely a thought to do it.

Like an exhale, Harry falls into Malfoy's mind, into the thoughts swirling there, into the bone-deep pleasure that comes with it. The images are more of what Malfoy shared before, more memories of them together, but the feelings underpinning it…

The heat is still there. It's always there, thick and cloying, but where it had been sharp and stinging before, it's softer now. Tender. The fingers tangled in his hair have gentled. They brush his hair from his forehead so that lips can press there instead, directly over his scar. Harry gasps, and a quiet voice whispers that he's okay, that he's not alone, that he'll never be alone again. Thin lips that are supple against his instead of biting murmur his name, over and over again, and a single, echoing word. A word that fills him up like sunlight, that overflows his mind and his soul until it's spilling out of him and across the pavement, wet as rain.

"Draco!"

Harry spills between them. His come is hot and sticky, and it covers that damned band logo and the soft curve of Draco's stomach. Cursing, Draco drags his fist over them a few more times, smearing Harry's spunk over their pricks. His head thrown back, Malfoy comes, and Harry pants against Draco's neck, body shaking from more than just pleasure.

The alleyway is quiet except for their breathes. Somewhere in the distance, there are voices raised in laughter. Some late night revelers, unaware of what's happening in the shadows beyond the touch of neon.

"What the fuck, Malfoy?" Harry's voice shatters the silence around them. When Draco tries to pull away, Harry doesn't let him.

Draco struggles against Harry's grip on his thighs and Harry's weight holding him to the wall, then stills when Harry doesn't relent. "What's your problem, Potter? You got what you wanted, now let me go."

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Harry keeps his head against Draco's shoulder, unable to look at him.

"There's nothing to fucking tell." Draco drops one of his legs, then pushes against Harry's chest hard. Off-balance, Harry stumbles back. Draco's pulling his fly closed and already walking away when Harry grabs his wrists and forces him to stop.

"I can't keep doing this."

Draco stares at him, grey eyes wide, his white shirt stained. "What?"

"If you… Malfoy, I can't."

"Of course." Draco wrenches his hand away and zips up his jacket. "Proper Potter gets what he wants, like always. Doesn't matter if that's a quick fuck or a quick fuck off."

Anger rushes through him, fast and uncontrollable. "That's not what this is."

"Isn't it?"

"No, it isn't. I can't do this to you, not now."

"Not now?"

"Now that I know."

Draco stops and stares at Harry. Understanding creeps into his eyes as the blood seeps from his face and leaves his cheeks deathly pale. His fingers shake as he fumbles out a cigarette, the bright flash of flame trembling in the night air as he lights it. Exhaling, he looks away, head dropped, his fringe hanging down.

Harry's hands itch to brush it aside.

"I should've known this would happen," Draco says, more to himself than to Harry. "I should've known the second I saw you in that damned holding cell that this was a bad idea."

"Malfoy, I can't — "

"You've made that abundantly clear, Potter." Harry's name has never sounded more like a curse.

"I'm not going to fuck you in an alley when you're in love with me!"

Draco's smile is twisted and small. "You didn't fuck me, though, did you?"

"Damn it, Draco."

"Don't!" He points at Harry, his eyes filled with fire as he stalks forward. "Don't you dare call me that, not now. Not when you're done with me."

Careful of the lit cigarette, Harry grabs Draco's hand. Draco tries to wrench his hand away, but Harry holds tight. "I never said I was done with you."

"You just did!"

"No, I said I can't do  _ this _ . Christ, do you have to be so prickly?" Harry grabs the cigarette, throws it to the side, pulls Draco into his arms. "If you'd just listen to me for two seconds, instead of assuming the worst, we could be back at mine already."

"Back at yours?" Brow furrowed, Draco lets himself be drawn closer to Harry's body. "Why would we be back at yours?"

"Because that's where I take people I care about when I want to make love to them."

Draco laughs. "Do what?"

"Make love." Harry brushes Draco's fringe back and tucks it carefully behind his ear. "You're not the only one hiding feelings, you idiot."

Draco Malfoy is not a man to gape in astonishment, not even at the most astonishing things. But as understanding ripples through his body, his mouth goes slack, his eyes wide, and Harry does his best to memorize the expression.

He doubts he'll see it again.

"What are you saying, Potter?"

Harry leans in to rest his forehead against Draco's. "I'm saying that you can't be my CI if you're going to be my boyfriend."

"Who said I'd date you?"

Harry kisses that smart mouth. He doesn't need Draco to say it.

After all, he already knows the truth.


End file.
